Chapter 23
Stevie
“Raccoon,” I mumble.
Click.
“Raccoon.”
Click.
“Oooh, deer!”
Click.
I sigh. “Raccoon.”
Like last time, the trail cameras have mostly captured raccoons, deer, and the occasional hiker. It was a busy week in the preserve, though, and I’m only halfway through the photos.
My first-ever sasquatch tour ended around nine, but Adam and I weren’t ready to go separate ways. Luckily, the full SD cards made an easy excuse.
Now we’re curled up on my yellow couch. I’m stretched out sideways, my tired legs draped across his while I work.
I can’t help but spy on him over the top of his laptop while I click through the trail footage.
His eyelids look heavy while he scrolls on my TV, his sock-covered feet propped on the coffee table.
He’s just so cute, gravely searching my Netflix account and resting his free hand on my knee.
The best word to describe Adam is cozy. I can’t believe how comfortable I am with him. He’s peaceful and refreshing, like steady rain on the parched ground of my life. And I’ve absorbed him greedily.
I can tell he’s wiped out, though. He is an early riser, I’ve learned, and he seems overtired after a few late nights in a row with me. He’s been yawning since we got to my house, but when I call him on it, he brushes it off and pretends to be alert.
He wants to be with me, I think, and my heart thumps erratically.
A familiar voice comes from the TV.
“Is this okay?” Adam asks, nodding to the nineties sitcom on the screen.
It’s an episode of Seinfeld I’ve seen so often I could recite it from memory. “Perfect,” I murmur. It’s the ideal mindless show to play in the background while we track down poachers and Bigfoot.
“I like this. It’s like having an assistant.” He drops the remote, tipping his head back and relaxing into the cushions. He sighs. “Let me know if you see anyone with a shotgun.”
I sniff. “You’re my assistant.”
He strokes a lazy line over my kneecap with his thumb. “How do you figure?” he asks, his voice deep and teasing.
“You assisted on my tour tonight,” I point out, clicking to the next photo.
He chuckles. “I supervised a group of delusional guys and their ringleader in my preserve.”
“That isn’t very Team Bigfoot of you, Adam.” I pull my legs away.
He drags my legs back into place with a soft growl. “That’s because I’m Team Stevie.”
My heart thrums. “Yes. You are. It’s almost like”—I settle against him again—“you’re my assistant.”
Adam laughs, and I click to the next photo. What on earth?
“No.” I close one eye to protect my innocence, scrolling quickly to the next photo, but it only gets worse. “Oh, ew.” I shudder.
“What?” Adam straightens.
I’ve already seen too much. “Kevin.” I mutter his name like a curse.
Adam pivots the laptop toward himself. “Wow.” His eyes tighten. “Is this guy trail running in his underwear?”
“It’s a Speedo.” I pinch my eyes closed until Adam clicks to the next picture. “In the summer, Kevin works on his tan. In public. In the tiniest swimwear available on earth. It’s so gross.” I shudder. I still can’t look. “That’s how he got his nickname.”
There’s a soft click, then Adam barks out an incredulous laugh. “You have to—” He can barely talk through his laughter. “You have to see this.”
I open one eye cautiously. “What?”
His laughter fades, and he turns the computer fully toward me. “An unexpected hero has emerged.”
I scan the photo. Speedo Kevin has almost run out of the shot, but a distinctive figure has entered the frame. His neck outstretched and razor-sharp beak leading the charge, Butterballsy is in angry pursuit. His tail feathers are tucked behind him while he hunts Kevin.
“People have to learn to stop running from that bully.” I shake my head, downloading the photo. “You’re emailing this one to me.”
“Done.” He nods.
And Adam and I settle back into our comfortable evening—me, working through trail-camera photos, and Adam, tracing lines on my knees with his fingers. My living room is quiet except for the canned laughter coming from the TV and my fingers clicking the trackpad.
“What did you think of L.L. Bean?” Adam asks out of nowhere, his focus fixed on the television. The nonchalance in his tone sounds forced.
“The clothing store?”
“Crispin.” His teeth clench through the name.
Oh. I shrug. “He was all right, I guess.” He was a tad pretentious, but he left a hefty tip when he sent a mobile payment after our tour. “Brad was so much fun, though.”
Adam nods a few times. “Yeah, he was.” He clears his throat. “You did a great job tonight . . . with your tour.” He’s holding something back. It’s all over his face.
I slide his laptop onto the coffee table and sit up. Pulling his hands off my knees, I lace our fingers together and make him look at me. “What’s going on, Adam?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
I raise my eyebrows.
“I’m glad I was there.” There’s a thunderstorm in his eyes.
“Why?”
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone in the woods—”
“I’ve been alone with you.” My lips quirk into a smile.
“—with a guy like that.”
I laugh. “A guy like what?”
“Crispin.”
I search his face. His tight jaw and stormy eyes make it hard to get enough air. “You’re jealous,” I say, matter-of-fact and breathless.
“No.”
I lean in. “Are you sure about that?”
Deep lines form between his eyes, but he doesn’t respond right away.
His eyes move over me, tightening when they land on my lips.
“Jealous isn’t the right word.” He moves in, a fleeting, shy smile passing over his lips.
“Possessive, maybe? That isn’t any better, is it?
It’s a terrible word. I don’t own you. You’re just so .
. .” He yanks his hand away, pulling it through his hair with a groan. “I can’t say what I want to say—”
“Adam.” I reclaim his hand, forcing him to make eye contact.
I take a long, steadying breath. “You don’t have to say anything.
I get it. I don’t . . .” Am I going to say this?
I know what’s in my head. I want to reassure him that I don’t want anyone but him, but that’s another one of those big matzo balls.
I’m not ready to serve that up, even if I’m feeling it.
He peers down at me with his dark chocolate eyes, his heavy lids lowered in a way that makes me want to be possessive of him. I want to turn the tables a little.
My heart drums in my chest.
“Adam.”
“Hmm?”
“When I’m with someone—covertly or otherwise—I’m theirs. And they’re mine.” I can’t seem to take a full breath. “You’re m—”
I don’t get to finish staking my claim. Adam hooks his thick arm around my back, pulling me up and against him. His kiss is hurried but thorough. His mouth marks more territory than my words were ever going to.
He pulls away just enough to speak. “You don’t get to say it first,” he murmurs, pressing another quick kiss to my lips. “I want to say it.” Kiss. “I’m yours, Stevie.” Kiss. “You’re mine.” Kiss. “Got it?”
I fight a schoolgirl giggle. “Got it.” I don’t mind the bossy version of Adam under these circumstances.
I’m not sure how long I’m lost in him—completely detached from reality, no sense of time or space—when my front doorknob turns.
I push Adam away like I’m launching a cruise ship, wiping my mouth on my arm and scrambling to the opposite corner of the couch. Adam does the same, running his big hands through his hair and clearing his throat.
Marlow comes through the door. “Stevie?” She takes in the second occupant of my couch, and her mouth pulls into a wide, obnoxious grin. “Adam?”
I’m rethinking my open-door, no-knock policy. My friends and I have known each other for so long that mi casa es su casa is just how we work. We don’t have anything to hide from each other. No secrets. Until now. But if I suddenly start locking out my friends, they’ll know I’m up to something.
“What are you two doing at ten o’clock at night, with the mood lighting?” Marlow teases, probably hearing the ca-ching! of prize money hitting her bank account.
And the beard burn, I don’t add. I rub my lips together, praying that they aren’t glowing red from Adam’s kisses. My gaze darts to his mouth. His lips are nice and supple from my peach lip gloss.
I roll my eyes like one of my students. “It’s not mood lighting. Bright light still hurts my head. You know, since the concussion.” This is mostly true.
Marlow plops on the middle cushion of the couch, wedging herself between Adam and me. “Oh, that’s right.” She winces. “Sorry.” She kicks her feet onto the coffee table, and I don’t miss Adam’s amused smile as Marlow makes herself comfortable. She frowns. “Is it still pretty bad?”
I take pain medication like it’s trendy, and my head still throbs by the end of the day, but who has time to wait out a concussion? I shrug. “Eh.”
“There are no awards for being the toughest girl on the playground anymore, Stevie.” Marlow puts a soft hand on my arm. Her voice lowers. “Your brothers aren’t watching.”
The stubborn braids are about to sprout on my head. I know she’s saying this out of love, but this isn’t about being tough. “I know.”
“I know you know.” She smiles. “So . . . What are you guys doing together so late at night?”
The insinuation in her voice makes me want to whack her face with a throw pillow—out of love, of course.
Adam saves her. “We’re going over photos on trail cameras I’ve installed in the preserve,” he says, gesturing to the open computer. He’s all business now.
“Oh.” Marlow deflates. “That makes sense.”
Who knew that honesty would rescue us? Partial honesty, anyway—that wasn’t all we were doing.
“Well . . .” Marlow loops her arm through mine. “I have some good news. We found someone for you. You have another date tomorrow night—”
I interrupt her, grumbling a string of unintelligible words and veiled threats. Adam’s low chuckle at my reaction is full of relief.
Marlow cuts me off. “Diana found this guy. You trust her. She has good taste—”
“She’s obsessed with Tom Selleck,” I remind her.
Marlow ignores me. “His name is Jake. He’s meeting you at the diner tomorrow night at six-thirty.”
My gaze darts to Adam. He’s fully focused on me, waiting for my response. He’s so cute. Marlow needs to leave so I can squeeze him. His cuteness—combined with his quiet steadiness—fortifies me. No matter what happens tomorrow night, Adam will be there at the end of it.
This can go two ways: I can whine and complain, or I can sit across from a random guy, eat dinner, never see him again, and win this bet.
“Okay,” I chirp.
“Okay?” Marlow’s head jerks back. “Just like that? What’s your angle, friend?” She eyes me suspiciously.
“No angle. I’ll be there.”
Adam drums his fingers against his leg.
Marlow eyes me. “You have an angle.”
Ugh. “I want to win this bet already so our friendship can go back to normal.” I jostle our joined arms. “That’s my angle.”
Her eyes narrow. Her head swivels from me to Adam. “And you’re helping her find Bigfoot?”
He coughs. “I’m showing her what’s on the trail cameras,” he hedges, his voice suspiciously neutral as he repeats what he told her to begin with. This guy is a terrible faker.
Marlow tilts her head, biting her lip. “And have you guys found anything?”
“Just Speedo Kevin being chased by a territorial wild turkey,” I cut in. I need to save Adam from Marlow’s cross-examination.
“In the Speedo?” she asks with trepidation.
“Yep.” I reach for the laptop. “Want to see?”
Marlow laughs. “Obviously.”